Lofe and Bagpipes
by TaleasOldasTimeandSpace
Summary: Bog MacAlpine is the pipe major of Dark Forest Pipes and Drums, and offers Marianne Sterling a place in the band. Of course, having two nerds in one pipe band might not be the best idea. Warning: contains dorks, nerds, and copious bagpipe music.
1. The Pipes are Calling

Bog scowled at the length of the line for the meat pies. The _one_ time he didn't bring food, and the line looked to be at _least_ twenty miles long. And no, he wasn't exaggerating. Not at _all._

It was all his mother's fault. Griselda insisted on packing a lunch for him every single time he had a Scottish festival, no matter how many times he told her he wasn't in school anymore and was too old for her to fix him a lunchbox. Even worse, as she did so often, Griselda went overboard. She didn't just pack him a lunch. She packed him a three-course gourmet picnic, complete with appetizers and dessert. He usually ended up feeding half of his pipe band with the food she sent. They appreciated it. He didn't.

Unfortunately, she'd more or less gotten him used to it, and the one time she was out of town when he had a festival was the one time he'd forgotten to pack his own lunch. All he wanted was a sandwich. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so, since his options consisted of meat pies, fish and chips, bangers and mash, and haggis. He wasn't fussy about giant sausages, and he'd had far too many fish and chips in the course of his piping career. So, meat pipes it was. Haggis wasn't an option, even if he _was_ Scottish.

He pulled out his watch, glancing at the length of the line. At this rate, he'd be eating steak and mushroom and tuning at the same time. If he had to lead the band on an empty stomach, he would _not_ be a happy camper. Piper. Whatever.

And if the pipe major ain't happy, ain't _nobody_ happy.

He was starting to wonder if he could use his sheer size to intimidate his way to the front of the line. If people didn't want a six-foot-eight Scot in a kilt breathing down their neck (or on the top of their head, as the case may be), well, it wasn't his fault if they dropped out of line, right?

'Marianne, look at the length of this line! You'll have to be back to tune by the time we get up to order!'

Huh. Apparently he wasn't the only one with food problems today. Good.

But did she have to sound so…perky?

'Well if you had been at the sword vendor where I told you to meet me, we could be eating by now. But nooo, I had to track you down at the athletics. On the other side of the fairgrounds!'

The second voice was husky, with a sarcastic edge. And she liked swords. She sounded interesting.

'Swords are boring. Big, muscular guys in kilts are cute!'

'Daaawn!'

'Mariaaaane!'

Bog's lips twitched. He shouldn't be entertained their argument. But he was.

'Anyway, the athletics are off limits, remember?'

'Come _on_ Marianne. It was _one_ time. And all I did was smile.'

'Uh-huh. And all _he_ did was get so distracted that he tossed the caber into the audience.'

'Nobody died.'

He snorted. He could picture it, and the image was terrifying.

'Excuse me? Do you have something to add to this _private_ conversation?'

Busted.

He turned slowly. 'If ye'd wanted t'have a private conversation, maybe ye shouldnae have it in the food line, yeah?'

'He has a point, Marianne.' The perky one, Dawn, elbowed her companion. She was the personification of her name, with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She looked sweet enough to give a person cavities.

Marianne glared at her. 'Not helping, Dawn.' She was the opposite of Dawn, with spikey brown hair and amber eyes. The combination of a scowl and her dark purple make-up threw off distinctly aggressive vibes. He was pretty sure she would punch anyone who accused her of being 'sweet.'

Dawn stuck her tongue out.

Marianne rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Bog. Her eyes widened as she took in his height, and he braced himself, waiting for the comments. People couldn't resist remarking on how tall he was, as if it was something he could somehow control.

'Hey, I know you! You're the pipe major for Dark Forest Pipes and Drums, right? Bog MacAlpine?'

Well, okay. He hadn't expected that. But come to think of it, he knew them, too. 'Aye. An' yer Marianne and Dawn Sterlin'. Ye play wi' Fairfield Pipe Band.'

'She does.' Marianne jerked her thumb at her sister. 'I'm just filling in.'

'But Marianne, you can't let Roland kick you out of the band!'

'I'm not "letting Roland kick me out of the band."' She emphasized her words with exaggerated air quotes. 'I'm leaving because I refuse to be in the same band with him.'

Bog raised an eyebrow. He tried to avoid pipe band gossip, so he wasn't exactly sure what they were talking about. They'd apparently forgotten he was there, anyway. Although if the Roland they were talking about was Roland Greene, he couldn't blame her for not wanting to be around him.

'You should make Roland leave!'

'I'm not making anyone do anything. You know the only reason I'm here at all is because he isn't.'

Dawn clutched her sister's arm dramatically. 'But I don't want to be in the band without you!' she wailed. Then she brightened. 'Maybe I should leave, too.'

Marianne smiled indulgently. 'What about Sunny? He'd be so lonely in the tenor section if you left.'

'I'll get him to come with me! We'll form our own band!'

'You need more than two tenors and a piper for a band, Dawn.'

That actually gave him an idea. But it was a really bad idea. It could benefit them both, though. But he would probably regret it.

He cleared his throat.

Marianne jumped, her eyes flying to his before narrowing. Yep, she'd definitely forgotten he was there.

'Look, your right, this isn't the best place for this discussion, but do you mind turning around and pretending you can't hear us or something? Give us _some_ privacy, even if it's fake?'

Bog crossed his arms and concentrated on looking immovable. 'Ah was here first. If ye dinnae like it, _ye_ can leave. Ah think the fish an' chips line is pretty short.'

She wrinkled her nose. 'Ew, no thanks. I've had waaay too many fish and chips in my life. The chips are okay, but if I ever see another piece of fried fish, I'm going to start killing people. And unlike most, I keep my sgian dubh _sharp_.' She pulled the knife out of her sock and waved it for emphasis.

Bog raise his hands. 'Woah, Tough Girl. Ah b'lieve ye. Please dinnae cut me wi' yer wee knife. Ah could bleed out slowly over the course of sev'ral weeks. It'd be a slow, agonizing death. An' then Ah'd have t'come back an' haunt ye. It'd be hard fer ye t'compete if Ah'm wailin' in yer ear ev'ry time ye strike in.'

She tried valiantly to maintain her glower, but he could see her lips twitching. She stuck the knife back in her sock. 'Fine. But mention fish to me one more time, and I will end you.'

He leaned down. 'Give it to us rrraaw and wiiiiggling. _You_ keep nasty chips.'

She blinked, then grinned, shoving him in the arm. 'Yer _'opeless._ '

He grinned back, pleased she'd not only gotten his reference but responded in kind.

'Oh my _goodness,_ Marianne. You've finally found someone who's as big a nerd as you are. You should marry him now and have lots of nerd babies together.'

'Dawn!' Marianne's cheeks were bright red, and he was pretty sure his weren't much better. She shoved her sister, but Dawn was unperturbed.

'Actually, I pity your children. I've seen your Etsy feed.'

Marianne held up a warning finger. 'Don't you even.'

'Stormageddon onesie.'

'I _will_ stuff you in the base drum. Nobody would even know you're there.'

Okay, she liked Lord of the Rings, Doctor Who, _and_ she played bagpipes. Not to mention the violent tendencies. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

'Ye know, Ah actually have an openin' in mah pipe band. If yer interested. Ah mean, it's alright if yer not.' He cracked his neck. 'This is prob'ly a bad idea,' he muttered.

'Are you kidding? It's an _awesome_ idea!' Marianne grinned at him. 'I _love_ your band's music. And I'd get one of those cool kilts!' she gestured to the purple, green, and brown tartan he wore. 'Isle of Skye, right?'

He smirked. 'Aye. An' yer right - the kilt _is_ pretty cool. It's certainly better than yers. Yer like the _only_ band that wears Royal Stewart.'

'Hey, it wasn't _my_ choice, believe me.'

'I _like_ our kilts.'

'Dawn, we look like Scottish elves. And not the cool ones, either. Santa's elves.'

'I know. That's what I like!'

'You're embarrassing me. Please stop talking.'

'You're just jealous because you don't have my sense of style.'

'I have style. You have frighteningly bad taste. Seriously, how are we even related?'

'Trust me, that's something I ask myself every day.'

'Uh, excuse me, are you going to order something or what? You're holding up the line.'

Bog blinked at the meat pie vendor. He hadn't even realized they'd been steadily moving during the entire conversation. He turned back to the girls. 'Well lassies, what'll it be? Mah treat. It's the least Ah can do b'fore mah band destroys yours.'

Dawn beamed at him and reached up – way up – to pinch his cheek. 'Aw, thanks Boggy!'

He made a face. 'Bog.'

Marianne laughed. 'Yeah, thanks. I'd like the steak and mushroom, please.' She leaned towards Bog. 'Don't think I'm going to go easy on you, just because you tried to bribe me with food. You're going down, MacAlpine.'

'Ye first, Stirlin'.'

d-throw tachum d-throw d-strike

In the end, a visiting band from Colorado won. It didn't bother Marianne, though. This was her last competition with Fairfield, and she had more important things on her mind. She tracked Bog down at his band tent, where he was helping dismantle everything for the trip home.

She still couldn't get over how very _tall_ he was. She'd seen him around the games, of course, but somehow he seemed taller now that she'd actually spoken to him. Probably because she'd never been that close to him before. At 5'7", she wasn't exactly tiny, but he dwarfed her by at least a foot, maybe more. And how could anyone have eyes that blue? They made him look like a character from Lord of the Rings. It didn't really matter _which_ one, since the vast majority of the cast had ridiculously blue eyes. Although since he was so tall, he'd probably be an elf. An elf with crooked teeth. Or maybe an ent. He had a certain spiky, tree-like aura, with his sharp cheekbones and dark, messy hair. Whatever. He was certainly too tall and skinny to be a hobbit.

She snorted. Dawn was right. She _was_ a nerd.

(In her defense, she'd favourited that onsie back when she was still engaged to Roland, and the prospect of one day having children wasn't nearly as unlikely as it was now. But even if she never had kids, a onsie that said 'Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All?' How could any self-respecting Whovian resist? Although Dawn would be the first person to tell her that 'self-respect' and 'Whovian' didn't belong in the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence. But Dawn had never appreciated Doctor Who.)

She couldn't believe she'd never talked to him before. Just from the time they'd spent in line, she'd discovered they shared a lot of interests. More important, they shared a sense of humour. And that accent of his didn't hurt, either. It was amazing the way a simple attempt to obtain sustenance had become a bonding experience. It even made her forgive Dawn for breaking her athletics restraining order. Not that she'd ever _tell_ Dawn that.

He glanced her way and saw her watching. She gave him a jaunty two fingered salute, and he waved her over.

'Hey Bog! Congratulations on getting aggregate!'

'Thanks. It was the piobaireachd that did it. Ah'm surprised ye dinnae win anythin'.'

She lifted a shoulder. 'Eh, I'm not playing at solo competition quality right now. I wouldn't have done band competition this weekend, but I'm still officially on the band roster, so I was able to fill in since they only had five pipers. And the band competition music is dead easy. What piopaireachd did you play?'

'Flame o' Wrath.'

'Cool! That's my favourite!' She smiled mistily. 'Sometimes when I play it I imagine I'm circling Roland's burning house. It's my happy place.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Ye an' Roland must have some… _int'restin'_ history.'

She snorted. 'You have _no_ idea.'

He thought about it for a minute, and she braced herself for the questions. People _always_ wanted the gory details. Instead, he shrugged. 'Fair enough. Why dinnae ye come an' meet the rest o' th'band?'

She beamed at him. In the back of her mind, she realized it was her first real smile in a long time. 'Lead the way, pipe major MacAlpine sir.'

He waved her forward with a long arm, and she hitched her pipe case higher on her shoulder.

'Ye can put yer case wi' our stuff, fer now.'

Thanks.' She set the dark purple case down next to an assortment of pipe and drum cases. Between the colour and ridiculous amount of patches she'd stitched onto it, she had no fear of misplacing it.

'Hey guys, c'mere fer a sec.' The band dropped what they were doing and came over, their curiosity obvious. 'This is Marianne. She's int'rested in joinin' the band. Marianne, this is Thane, our pipe sergeant.'

A short man with slightly buggy eyes and a friendly grin waved. 'Call me Thang.'

'That's Steph, our drum sergeant.' The plump woman next to Thang saluted with her drumsticks. 'We also have Finn, Brutus, Ben, Maxine, Leticia, Lizzie, an' a few others who've already left. Ye'll meet them at band practice.'

She got a warm, fuzzy feeling in her chest at his casual assumption that she would be at their practice. Naturally, she refused to let it show. 'I assume I'll need to audition?'

He didn't seem to have thought about that, but he nodded. 'Aye, sure. We willnae have practice this week, on account o' the competition, but come next Wednesday. D'ye know the Dark Forest?'

'That's your bagpipe supply store on the edge of town, right?'

'Aye. We have band practice there Wednesday nights. It's in an old warehouse, so there's plenty o' room for everyone t'spread out.'

'And the pub will be open then, too,' interjected Steph. She had a surprisingly deep voice.

'Pub?'

'It's easier t'explain when ye see it. Anyway, come t' the Dark Forest next Wednesday at six. Play what ye like, and we can get ye started on the music. D'ye need directions?'

'Sure.' She could probably google it, but it couldn't hurt to have directions from someone who actually knew what they were doing. Besides, she was old-fashioned. She liked having the written instructions. 'So you don't have anything in particular you want to hear, like a 6/8 or a strathspey or something?'

He shrugged. 'Surprise me.'

'I think I can do that.'

'Well, in that case,' he held out a hand, which she shook firmly. Her hand looked absolutely tiny in his. 'Ah'll see ye Wednesday.'

 **And now for something completely different!**

 **I've heard rumors of Bog in a kilt, and I've seen a couple of fan art on the subject, but nobody seems to go all the way and have him play bagpipes. So I will. Both Bog and Marianne are pipers, because I see it as this universe's version of the big duel. There will be dueling bagpipes at some point. Dawn and Sunny are tenor drummers, because neither of them feel like pipers to me. I think they would both like twirling mallets in pretty patterns. Roland is also a piper, and he's better than I want him to be. But he had to be pretty good with a sword in the movie, so if I'm sticking with my analogy…**

 **Instead of my usual formula of plagiarizing two different universes (Strange Magic + X = fan fiction), I'm going to be basing most of this off of my own experiences as a piper and stories I've heard from other pipers (not that my career is necessarily that interesting, it just gives me a jumping-off point to embarrass Bog. And Marianne. But mostly Bog).**

 **Bog's last name is my attempt to be clever. Clan MacAlpine were the original kings of Scotland, so King. But Scottish. Sterling sounds sorta kinda fairy, but it's still Scottish, as well.**

 **Sgian dubh is pronounced 'skean du,' and means 'black' or 'hidden knife.' It was a small, last-resort kind of weapon, but it's mostly decorative now. It's worn in the sock or 'kilt hose,' with the handle visible. They're usually dull (because drunk pipers have been known to stab themselves in the leg trying to put them away), but like Marianne, I like to keep mine sharp. Because knives are cool. Also like Marianne and Bog, I never want to eat fried fish again. Way too many fish and chips in my career.**

 **The Stormageddon onsie is a real thing. Check it out. It's awesome.**

 **Piobaireachd is pronounced 'pe-brock.' It's the classical music of the bagpipes. It made up of a 'ground' or theme, followed by several variations on that theme. Piobaireachds can last anywhere from seven to twenty minutes. A grade one piper, which is the top level competition in America, and which for my purposes both Bog and Marianne are, has to have three piobaireachds memorized and ready to play for competition. The judge decides which one they want to hear on the day.**

 **A Flame of Wrath for Squinting Patrick is an actual piobaireachd. The best-known story goes like this: To avenge his brother's murder, a piper set fire to the village where the murderer was hiding. While the town burned, he played the Flame of Wrath. Piobaireachd is groovy. I could easily picture Marianne playing it while Roland burned.**

 **So, yeah. This will be pretty open-ended (and semi-educational!). I'll try not to have so many notes at the end of each chapter.**

 **Sound interesting?**


	2. Salute to the Dark Forest

Marianne left Fairfield a week and a half later with plenty of time to spare, even though Muirwood, the town in which Bog's store was located, was the only next town over. Consequently, she arrived at the Dark Forest almost a half an hour early. After circling the building a couple of times, she pulled into a vacant parking spot outside the warehouse, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment, taking stock. It wasn't especially large, as warehouses go. The majority of the building was two stories high, with a third story at the front. It was made of dark brown brick, with accents of red and tan bricks around the large, Gothic arches of the windows, and there was a raised pattern, almost like the lacy trim on a Victorian gingerbread house, just below the roof. It looked like it was constructed around the turn of the century – 1900, not 2000. Which, in her opinion, had better looking architecture anyway. Because it was at the edge of town, it was surrounded by open land – fields leading into sparse woods which sloped up into the hills separating Muirwood from Fairfield. It looked like a fun place to practice.

She got out of her car and walked around to get her pipe case out of the back. Slinging the case over her shoulder, she closed the door, patting the car affectionately as she locked it. She loved that car – a twenty-year-old station wagon, bought with her own money. She'd scoured Craigslist and various car dealerships for almost a year before finding it – she had a very specific set of requirements, the top, after price, being a manual transmission - and she fell in love instantly. Her dad had given her a paint job for a combination graduation/birthday present, and now the dark purple car, which she had christened Oswin, was perfect. Oswin had carried her to many a Scottish festival, and though small, she was roomy enough for all of her equipment.

Roland have never approved of Oswin – not the name, the year, the colour, or the fact that she was a stick shift. Girls weren't supposed to drive stick shifts, apparently. Or really be into cars at all. Really, it should have been a clue. She shook her head, trying to clear the unwelcome thoughts. This was supposed to be a new beginning, and she didn't need memories of Roland to sour the night. She was here to play bagpipes and have fun. Maybe show off, just a wee bit. She'd heard that Bog was good, but that didn't mean that he was better than her. Especially since she'd gotten back into practice after her post-break-up slump.

Well, they'd find out soon, wouldn't they?

There was a large sign at the top of the building that read Dark Forest Imports in large letters. Underneath, in slightly smaller type, were the words Celtic Music, Instruments, and Supplies. The entrance was a large barn-style door, which was slid open to reveal a more conventional glass door and windows. She figured that when the big door was closed, it would be as effective as a security gate in a retail store.

An old-fashioned bell over the door rang as she let herself in. Behind the counter, a short woman with wild, greying red hair looked up at the sound. She took in Marianne's appearance, from her hair, her _Piobaireachd: Not Just Another Snappy Tune_ t-shirt, dark jeans, and purple converse, and lingered on her pipe case. Yep, she was pretty much wearing the standard uniform of a bagpipe nerd. But she _liked_ being a bagpipe nerd, and it was best that the members of the Dark Forest Pipes and Drums knew what they were getting from the start.

The woman's eyes lit up, and she came around the counter with her arms outstretched. 'Hi! You must be Marianne! I'm Griselda, I run the shop. Welcome!' Griselda looked unaccountably pleased to see her. Pumping her hand enthusiastically, the slightly-creepy woman tugged her down to whisper hoarsely, 'Don't you have a comb?'

Marianne blinked. Her hand twitched, but she forced herself to resist the urge to smooth her hair. Yes, her hair was wild, but it was a stylistic choice, rather than poor grooming habits. She shrugged instead. 'Yes, but the Whos in Whoville complain about infrastructure damage when I use it, so I try not to.'

Griselda looked shocked for a moment, and Marianne wondered if maybe she shouldn't have responded with sarcasm. But then the woman's grin widened to near-manic proportions. 'Oh, I like you. You're _perfect!_ '

'Uh, thanks?'

'So,' Griselda rested a casual arm on a convenient shelf, 'are you single? Married? In a committed relationship?'

Before Marianne could even begin to formulate a response – and really, what could she say to such invasive questions, especially since sarcasm only seemed to encourage her? – there was a crash at the back of the shop and a strangled 'Mom, _no!'_ She looked over Griselda's head to see Bog frantically trying to pick up bottles of pipe bag seasoning he must have knocked over while darting anxious glances between her and Griselda. His mother, huh? How did a vertically-challenged woman give birth to such a…vertically-gifted son? Well, if she was his mother, it explained her presence in the store. It didn't explain her unnatural interest in Marianne's hygiene or love life, though.

Unless…

She met Bog's eyes, took in his beet red cheeks, and had the immediate urge to turn around, jump into Oswin, and get as far away as possible. She didn't _really_ need to be in a pipe band, right?

She gave herself a mental headslap. She was being ridiculous. Lots of people had parents that tried to set them up with every available – or semi-available – prospect. Hey, her dad did that all the time. Although only to her. Annoyingly, he had the exact opposite attitude towards Dawn's love life.

Anyway, it didn't mean that Bog was interested in her as anything more than a potential piper. It certainly didn't mean that _she_ was interested in _him_. Because she wasn't. Totally not interested.

She squared her shoulders and gave Griselda a smile that was only slightly strained. 'Well, looks like that's my cue. Gotta go dazzle some poor saps with my awesome bagpipe skills.' She glanced back at Bog, afraid than she might have offended him in her attempt to deflect his mother. But he just looked grateful that she didn't leave in a huff. Besides, he probably sensed that her piping skills _were_ awesome, and wisely chose not to dispute that fact.

Griselda patted her arm. 'Of course, don't let me keep you. You kids have fun now.' She pointed a warning finger at Marianne, then at Bog. 'But I expect you to behave!'

Instead of trying to argue – having been raised by the woman, he'd probably learned long ago that there was no point – Bog just rolled his eyes at Marianne and finished cleaning up the seasoning display. He straightened as she walked over, cracking first his back, then his neck. She winced at the noise, but he seemed to feel better. He eyed her warily.

'Your mom's…intense,' she offered.

He grimaced. 'Aye, she is that. Ah apologize.'

'Don't worry about it. I know all about pushy parents. My dad's the same. He doesn't want me to be alone.' She huffed. 'He doesn't get that I _want_ to be alone. I just broke up with my boyfriend; the last thing I need is another one.'

He grunted sympathetically, absently turning the last bottle of seasoning around in his hands. 'Ye're early,' he commented.

She shrugged. 'Yeah, well, when I'm going to a new location, I like to leave plenty of time for travel and reconnaissance.'

He snorted. 'Ye sound like ye're some kind o' spy.'

She snapped her fingers. 'Rats, you've uncovered my secret identity: Marianne Stirling, agent of SHIELD, codename the Shide. Since the information in my file is classified, I'm afraid I'll have to kill you now.'

He blinked. 'That was…rather detailed.'

She grinned. 'I may or may not spend a percentage of my time reading and watching Marvel-related media, and as result developed a comprehensive alter-ego. Again, it's need to know.'

He squinted at her. 'Ye really are a nerd.'

'Yup.' She popped the 'p.'

'Good t'know.' He waved the seasoning. 'Since there's time yet, why dinnae ye come t'the Pub?' He stacked the bottle with the rest and led the way through the store.

'Ah, yes, the pub.' She followed him between displays of music books, CDs, and instruments. 'Steph mentioned a pub. What is the pub?'

He stopped at the other end of the store and spread his arms expansively. ' _This_ is the Pub.'

She realized the shop was set up like a combination bookstore/coffee shop. The main space was full of everything a piper or drummer would need to learn and perform, from equipment and uniform items to music. There was also a couple of shelves of British food, especially candy and tea. The 'coffee shop' section had a few dark wooden tables in front of a matching bar, behind which Steph stood. She saw Marianne and waved. Instead of the sign overhead saying Starbucks, however, it read Pub Moderation. Marianne quirked an eyebrow at Bog, who was watching her reaction. '"Pub Moderation?" I feel like there might be a story.'

Steph grinned and yelled, 'Thang! Marianne's here, and Bog's going to tell the pub story!'

There was a clatter, and Thang threw open a door and ran into the pub, catching himself on the bar before he could crash to the floor. 'I'm here, I'm here!' He hoisted himself onto a stool. 'He didn't start yet, did he?' Steph shook her head.

Marianne looked between the three of them. 'This must be some story.'

Bog shrugged one shoulder. 'It's nae so much the story, as the tellin'.' He walked over to stand next to Thang, and Steph came around and hopped onto the stool on his other side. They made a comical group, Bog standing in the middle and his friends on either side. They were still shorter than him, even on the stools.

Bog cleared his throat dramatically. 'So mah Dad was a piper in the army back in Scotland,' he began.

'He was a pipe major in the Queen's Own Highlanders!' interjected Steph.

'He told me lots o' stories o' his time in the army.'

'He knew lots of famous pipers,' said Thang.

'He _played_ with lots of famous pipers,' added Steph. 'Before they were famous.'

'At the time, everyone was required t'attend chapel on Sunday.'

'No matter what,' Steph and Thang said together.

'Now one Sunday, one o' the men in Dad's regiment was a little…under the weather.'

'Totally wasted,' Thang translated helpfully.

'He'd partied way too hard the night before,' agreed Steph.

'But he still came t'chapel.'

'And fell asleep in one of the pews,' finished Thang.

Bog leaned forward slightly. In spite of herself, Marianne mirrored him. 'Maybe the chaplain saw him.'

'And maybe he was just having a bad day,' Steph offered.

'But the chaplain began preachin' about moderation.'

Steph and Thang spoke together. 'He said:'

'Ye should eat in moderation.'

'You should drink in moderation,' added Steph.

'You should fornicate in moderation.' Thang blushed a little on his line. Marianne smirked at him.

Bog ignored her reaction. 'The soldier woke up.'

'He looked around,' said Steph.

Thang took his turn. 'And he said:'

All three of them recited in unison: 'Where the He-' they simultaneously raised their hands and headslapped the person to their left – Steph hit Bog, Bog hit Thang, and Thang made a show of falling off his stool – 'heck is this pub Moderation?!'

As Marianne laughed and applauded, the three of them bowed like they'd just finished performing Shakespeare.

'Anyway,' continued Bog in a normal voice as Thang followed Steph back behind the bar, 'Dad always promised himself he'd own a pub called Moderation, so when he got out o' the army an' we came over here, he opened the Dark Forest an' Pub Moderation at the same time.'

'What's with the headslap, though?' Marianne asked curiously.

He grinned. 'Well, mah mom dinnae approve o' swearin', especially in front o' her son, so every time he got t'that part, she'd reach over an' smack him upside the head, an' he'd change it t'a more kid-friendly word.'

She thought about the story. 'She didn't object to "fornicate?"'

'She just refused t'explain what it meant 'til Ah was in high school. By then Ah'd figured it out fer mahself, anyway.' He frowned at her. 'An' _nae_ from personal experience, mind ye.'

She shrugged innocently. 'I didn't say anything.'

'Ah could hear ye thinkin'.'

'I've been known to do that, on occasion.' She walked over and grabbed the stool Thang had vacated. 'I get the feeling you guys tell that story a lot.'

'Aye, Ah'm thinkin' o' addin' it as a floor show. We tell it every time we get a new band member. Kind o' like an initiation.'

'But I'm not actually a new band member. You still haven't heard me play yet. I could be terrible.' He raised an eyebrow at her, and she added defensively, 'I'm _not._ But I could be.'

'Ah have a good instinct about these things.'

'I bet you say that to all the girls you try to recruit into your band.'

'Nae, just the obnoxious ones.'

She punched his arm.

'Hey, nae abusin' yer pipe major!'

'You're not my pipe major yet.'

'Insubordination!'

'You need some help, Boss?' Marianne wasn't sure if Thang was serious or not.

Bog growled in mock aggravation. 'Ah dinnae need help defendin' mahself from a wee fairy piper.'

'Hey, I take offence at that! I'm not a "wee" anything.' Bog made a point of looking down at her from his superior height, and she punched his arm again. 'Just because _you're_ freakishly tall does _not_ make me short!'

He patted her head. 'Whatever ye say, Tough Girl.'

She swatted his hand away. 'Seriously, how did you get so tall, anyway? Was one of your ancestors Finn McCool or something?'

'It's mah superpower. Ah'd tell ye more, but then Ah'd have t'kill ye.'

'Well played, MacAlpine. Well played.'

'Sooo, Marianne, can I get you something to drink? Eat? Whatever?'

At Steph's amused tone, Marianne looked away from Bog's twinkling blue eyes and surveyed the menu. 'Yeah, sure, that'd be good.' She absently started reading the options. 'Wait a minute, this basically _is_ a coffee shop!' There was no alcohol on the menu. Instead, there were soft drinks, coffee, and tea, as well as pastries and sandwiches. She realized that what she had taken for beer taps were actually soda. That was kind of cool. 'I'm mean, not that it bothers me, I don't drink; but, y'know,' she gestured to the sign, '"pub" kinda implies booze.'

Bog shrugged. 'Aye, well, when mah dad first opened the pub, there was plenty o' beer an' whiskey, but I got rid o' it when I took over.'

'How come?'

He gave her a lopsided grin. 'When ye grow up hearin' stories about the pipers that yer dad knew an' drank wi', an' those stories always end wi' "they're dead now," it kinda puts a damper on any desire t'start drinkin' yerself.'

Thang nodded solemnly. 'Don't drink and pipe. It could kill you.'

'On that uplifting note,' Marianne studied the menu some more, 'How about a chocolate croissant and an iced tea with enough lemon in it to make Captain America pucker.'

'That's an interestin' combination,' Bog commented as Steph poured the tea and Thang got the pastry out the display.

She shrugged. 'What can I say. I like my pastry chocolate and my tea tart. I'd get hot tea, but I know I'll regret that once I start playing. Piping makes me sweaty enough without throwing hot beverages in the mix.'

'Preach!' Thang laughed and gave her a high five along with her croissant.

The croissant was one of the kind that had chocolate – lots of chocolate – inside and more chocolate drizzled on the outside. It was horribly messy and absolutely delicious. Thang had even stuck it in the microwave for her, so its chocolate lifeblood oozed everywhere as soon as she cut into it. She took a bite and raise her tea in a salute. 'This is really good, guys.'

Steph grinned. 'I know. My family own a bakery, and we make the best pastries in town. No, the county. No, the state. No-'

Thang clapped his hand over her mouth. 'Sorry, she gets carried away when bragging about baked goods.'

Marianne was torn between savouring every bite and shoveling it into her mouth as fast as possible. 'By all means, brag away.' As she set about making sure she was properly sugared and caffeinated, members of the band began trickling in. They would wave at Bog, Steph, and Thang and nod politely at Marianne before disappearing into a back room. She estimated the shop took up about a quarter of the warehouse, leaving plenty of room for pipe band activities.

Regretfully, she decided it really wouldn't make a good impression if she licked the plate, and settled for scraping as much chocolate up as she could with her fork. She drained the last of her tea, then pushed away from the bar and hoisted her pipe bag over her shoulder. 'Well, if I'm going to wow you guys with my piping, I should probably start tuning up. Do you have a specific place, or should I go outside, or…' she let the rest of the sentence hang as she looked at Bog expectantly.

'Ah'll show ye where ta go.' He straightened up and started for the door everyone else had been using.

Marianne turned back to Steph and Thang, made a circle with the thumb and index finger of her right hand, and placed it on her left collarbone so that her middle, ring, and pinky fingers stuck up over her shoulder, bowing toward her audience. 'We who are about to pipe salute you,' she intoned gravely.

'Ooo, I like it. That should be our salute.' Thang tried to imitate her, and Steph caught him before he could slam his head into the counter on his bow. 'Hey Bog, we need a salute!'

'Bagpipes first, secret handshakes later!' Bog held the door open and raised an eyebrow at Marianne. 'Comin', Tough Girl? Or are ye tryin' t'stall?'

'Lead on, Boggius Ceasar!'

* * *

 **Bet you thought you'd never see more of this, didn't you? Surprise! Between Christmas and writing three ongoing fics (and being attacked by rabid vampire plot bunnies for a fourth), I've been slow on posting. I'll try and get some sort of rotating schedule going.**

 **I wanted to get some actual piping in this, but I feel like A) it's already kind of long and B) this is a good stopping point. Also, C) if I write about piping here, it would probably end up being twice as long as it already is. Bagpipes in the next chapter, I promise!**

 **I've added Avengers to my list of fanfiction searches (along with Butterfly Bog, Whouffaldi, and Sherlloly), and that may or may not have influenced some of the dialog. It's classified.**

 **The pub is based on a true story told by one of my piping instructors, which I twisted it for my own evil ends and threw it in for my piping buddy Thor, who was disappointed I call the pub in Strange Science 'The Dark Forest' instead of 'Moderation.' You're welcome, Thor.**

 **One last note: I have a Tumblr! Still figuring out what to do with it, but whatever. Come chat, send prompts, bask in the geekiness (which will appear once I actually start posting stuff). It's taleasoldastime-andspace** **(original, no?) Maybe I'll start putting my notes there, instead of writing essays at the end of my chapters. I'm aware I have a problem in that area.**


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